


Your Computer Will Restart In...

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Caretaking, College finals, Friendship, Gen, Light Angst, Stress, copious swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2801069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end it took 9 days.  Which was a whole day and a half longer than last semester’s record for days without Ransom crashing during exam period.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Computer Will Restart In...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moonlark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlark/gifts).



In the end it took 9 days. Which was a whole day and a half longer than last semester’s record for days without Ransom crashing during exam period. 

Holster didn’t feel much like celebrating though, what with currently trying to clean up the mess that is currently Justin Oluransi mid FallFinals2k14. Mostly Holster just feels like a nap followed by a slightly longer nap with a side of napping for dessert. Jesus, he just wants to sleep. But time waits for no bro, just like Rans’ delicate coral reef ecosystem waits for no Holster, and beneath the exhaustion he knows he has to patch this up as best as he can. (And he can patch Ransom up better than anyone else can, thank you very much.) 

Lifting his friend’s left arm up and over his shoulder, Holster pulled them both into a wobbly standing position from where they had been sprawled unattractively on the least grody bench in front of Founders. Shifting Ransom’s arm into a more comfortable position, he proceeded to half-stagger, half-stumble them in the general direction of East dhall. 

Time for some snackage before Rans either A) passed out completely or B) broke out of his shut-down induced state of calm blinking and straight back into freak out mode. It was a delicate process of trying to force him to walk but preventing the ever menacing River Geese from getting too close to them as they passed through the quad after managing the bridge. 

Once River Quad had been cleared, Holster jammed his foot in the door of the dining hall before it swung closed behind some preppy douchebag, swore (because fuck, that hurt! Those doors were all brass plated and heavy), and then leaned Ransom against the foyer wall for a minute. Dragging a hand down his face and taking a moment to breathe, Holster dug around in his jacket pocket for his ID before nudging Ransom out of his freaky blank stare-off with an ugly painting of some foxes. Leaning over, he mumbled into his friend’s ear,  
“Dude, I’m gonna get us some food from the take-away counter and then we’re gonna go crash at the Haus, kay? Hang in there.” With that he guided Rans into a nearby chair and tried not to glance too concernedly back at him while leaving to flash his ID at the check-in lady, (hey Linda), before grabbing some granola what-the-fuck-evers and hightailing it back. Handing a granola bar to Ransom was an interesting process from an outsider’s perspective, and if Holster wasn’t so invested-slash-paranoid over his friend’s caffeine dominated diet he’d be inclined to laugh at the way Rans seemed to be eating on autopilot. As it was, Holster sighed before pocketing his own snack for later. Once again shouldering the dead weight that was his d-partner, Holster started the trek from the hall to Haus, hoping like hell they didn’t end up tripping from sheer exhaustion out into the traffic on Jason Street. 

\---

In the end it took a good 10 minutes to travel the usually 2 minute walk from River dhall to the front door of the Haus, but Holster counted it as a success anyways. That shit was hard on a normal ass-freezing day without having to carry a too heavy hockey player the entire way. Thank you, shitty foggy glasses, you were useless. God his shoulders ached. Stomping the snow off his boots on the porch, then getting the key through the lock seemed like an almost insurmountable task, but eventually was achieved. Holster had this shit on lock, okay? Though looking at where Ransom seemed to be falling asleep leaning against the filthy siding of the used-to-be-white Haus may have made him feel a distinct lack in the shit-locked-down department. Whatever. He didn’t need his whole life in order to look after his friend, that’s just falling back on one hundred percent normal Ransom’n’Holster friendship instincts.

Bursting through the front door feels kind of like a breath of warm, fresh air… for about three seconds. Then it just dissipates to the usual stink of dirty laundry, sweaty equipment, and spilt booze, with the faint underpinning of baked goods long gone. Holster shook his head as they thumped down the hall; finals were hard on every Wellie, but it was a damn shame that Bitty was too busy to even stress bake this week. Regardless, there was a bunk bed playing its siren call to Holster and a less-than-conscious Ransom. No time for spare thoughts of small baking bros. Winter gear was off and front hall cleared. Home stretch, let’s go. 

\---

Home stretch seemed a lot longer than initially thought. Though to be fair, there was also a “break” for about 10 minutes of lying face down on the carpet just in front of the shitty ladder to their attic. Will power is shitty. Snow is shitty. Finals are shitty. Brains that make your best bros out of their minds with stress then go comatose are shitty. Ugh.

The stairs are about as much trouble as Holster thought they’d be. Which is to say: A motherfucking ton. God, Rans is heavy. But he was doing this for friendship. Ransom was the Ann Perkins to his Leslie Knope and Holster would go to the moon and back for him. To the attic and back. Whatever. The point is they’re in their damn attic and from this point it’s easy, practiced. Dump Rans in the wrong bunk on the bottom (because fuck any more ladders), wrestle his hoodie off, jam a granola bar in his own mouth, find some half-full water bottles, chug said water bottles, proceed to gather more water bottles for currently comatose Rans. Simple.

Holster leans against the bed from his position of currently chilling on the floor, and looks towards Rans’ face. Dude was out like a light but Holster still heard a nagging worry in the back of his head that competed with his thankfulness at seeing his friend finally asleep. The worry was starting to sound a lot like a particular southern twang that said ‘he needs some water if he’s not gonna wake up for 12 hours, ‘specially after all that dehydratin’ coffee’. He stared for a minute, though, reluctant to break the calm currently surrounding them.

God how Holster hated seeing Rans get to this. Normally the sleeping thing was fine, typical daily function, ya know? Not usually this emotion-inducing for big burly d-men. But there was a particular flavour of finals that made everything so much worse. Blowing out a noisy sigh, Holster turned so his forearms were leaning on the bed and he could set his head heavily on them and continue watching over the other. Not for the first time, Holster couldn’t help thinking about how shitty this whole cycle was. Get work, put it off, put it off, party some, think about work, get anxious, put it off, party more, put it off, deadline looming, panic, work too hard, panic more, collapse. Finishing optional.

And yet it all seemed so much worse for Ransom in ways that Holster just couldn’t help with. There was nothing to do for him except let him mutter, and chug coffee, and shake, and even cry, and GOD. It hurt. It really hurt to see Ransom get so scared about a little test, one that Holster knew Rans would ace, because he always did. For someone who couldn’t care less about class and took every opportunity to skip, Rans was the smartest person Holster knew. And it didn’t seem to matter that Rans knew this too (because he did, Holster always took the time to let him know how great his bestest bro was), it was just the shitty brain chemistry card he was dealt.

He wished there was just some way to make it better, tone down the desperation that seemed to infect his friend when he threw himself into studying. But he didn’t know, all Holster knew was that this couldn’t keep going forever, because one day he wouldn’t know enough to set the Rans Reef System back in balance, because there wouldn’t be any coral reefs left. Stupid carbon dioxide poisoning.

Holster let his face fall forward onto the bed.

Scratch that, Holster swore as his glasses dug into his nose bridge and swiped them off before throwing them in some corner THEN he faceplanted on the bed. Finals could kiss his giant hockey-playing ass, to be honest.

Turning to face the blur that was Ransom snoozing away in his bed, Holster squinted in thought. On top of the squinting because blurriness.

There had to be some way to help Rans. There just had to be. Holster didn’t really want to dwell on what would happen if there wasn’t. Can’t catch me bad thoughts.

This study-until-you-drop thing could only be done so many times in quick succession. Otherwise bad things. Therefore, he only needed to find some way to help Rans tone down on the number of tests (unlikely to be controllable, as profs are ass nuggets), or tone down the intensity of the anxiety when studying (much more manageable). Nodding to himself and the mattress, Holster tried to brainstorm as best as his sleep deprived mind would allow. Just talking to Rans and reassuring him didn’t work, as by that point he was already in logic-less freak out land. He needed something else. An intervention?

Holster snorted to himself, picturing the clusterfuck that would ensue if his teammates were put in charge of an emotional discussion of safety re: personal choices. God, what a train wreck. Something else then. Stress management classes? Possibly, though picturing Rans in some guided group meditation surrounded by strangers made him smile fondly at how OOC it would look. Maybe having something calming around all the time like those therapy dogs they had at the library last year? Ransom had seemed to really like those, though granted, Holster may have been a bit too enthralled by the dogs himself to note if anyone else felt less than the same way. Would Shitty know the policy of pets being allowed in the Haus? … Possibly. Something to look into.

Wracking his brain as hard as he could, Holster tried to remember if there was anything he got told about stress things by student services. All that was really coming to mind was the counseling office which… Huh. Wasn’t such a bad idea. They’d definitely have experience with the whole ‘worried about friend’s mental health’ thing, which Holster would blatantly admit to having right now if it got Ransom someone to talk to. Maybe they’d even have specific management tricks for test stress! Holster grinned to himself at the thought.

They could do it. They could help Rans get a handle on this test anxiety thing, and then things would be better. Maybe Holster didn’t really have an idea of how they’d be better, since a Rans who freaks out over tests is the only Rans he knows, but it sure as hell couldn’t harm any more than the overexertion did. Plan more or less decided, Holster realized he’s still squinting at a faintly moving Rans who hadn’t been given water yet and shook himself lightly.

He reached out an arm and poked Rans in the area where his stomach probably is, underneath the blankets.

“Hey man, wake up. Got something for ya.” Moving into a crouch, Holster gently reached out and jabbed Ransom’s shoulder until some mumbling rasped its way out of Ransom’s throat. Thrusting a nearby open water bottle into his hands, Holster poked him in the forehead before saying, “S’alright, just drink this and then you can go back to sleep, bro.”

As Ransom blearily knocked back the water before letting his head fall back to the pillows, Holster clumsily got himself up from the floor to prepare the trek to the long awaited sleep. It wouldn’t kill him to sleep in the top bunk for one night, at least. With a huge yawn and stretch, he swiped at his phone until it would wake him up in a few hours (had to check on Rans, and also review that assignment before the 8pm submission time, Christ), before leaving it on a bedside table. Heaving himself into the top bunk, which swayed ominously under his weight (they really needed to get some sturdier furniture up in here), he flopped over and tried not to overthink what he had to do in the next few days as he fell asleep.

Assignment, econ 302 exam prep, supervise-slash-comfort Ransom post Bio exam, inquire at student services about counselling options.

Piece of cake.

\---

(Oh fine, piece of pie.)

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for the secret santa exchange for Astrid. Surprise! Hope you have a 'swawesome holiday season!
> 
> The prompt I was given specified Ransom and Holster in any type of relationship, so I mostly went with general friendship since that's what I'm best with writing.  
> (Also a bit late since I was initially planning on drawing some art, but lost my idea part way through and ended up writing instead, y'all know how it is)


End file.
